


Ƭнєяє'ѕ Aℓωαуѕ Mσяє тσ тнє Sтσяу

by SteelandSilk (SilkCut)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: At the Diner, Character Study, Gen, No Pulse, Parallelism, Relationship Study, post-death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 06:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12150603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkCut/pseuds/SteelandSilk
Summary: “It takes more than passable competence, a dash of compassion, and the right tools of time travel to become ᴛʜᴇ Dᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ. Much like it would take more than a stylish pair of sexy boots, hairspray and a predilection for passionate bloodshed to make one ᴛʜᴇ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀ.”





	Ƭнєяє'ѕ Aℓωαуѕ Mσяє тσ тнє Sтσяу

**Author's Note:**

> A solo I wrote for my Clara Oswald account on RP Twitter ([@TheyBecomeSongs](https://twitter.com/TheyBecomeSongs))

 

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→•••••••••••⊙Ｐａｒｔ Ｏｎｅ

 

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“Fʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇs﹐ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ﹖”  
  
Iηcєѕѕαηт αѕ єνєя, Clara thinks while she busies herself searching through the shelves in the kitchen. She may have intentionally started banging pots and utensils while she's at it so she can drown out the snide remarks of a most unwanted customer. She isn’t even looking for an object in particular, per se, but she’d soon flip everything else here than encourage any more banter with the worst person she knows. Her impatience and temper can’t get the best of her now because when did anger ever help anyone? Clara is most especially not going to lose it while somebody is watching. She’s had years of practice as a teacher and encountered students who would take advantage the moment you ever show them weakness.  
  
A rather comical analogy but one that certainly fits, she supposed, for although the other woman isn’t exactly a student of any sort, Missy is most definitely a brat.   
  
Ever since she waltzed her way into the TARDIS-diner ten minutes ago with a charmingly grating comment about something inappropriate, Missy has stayed in the booth nearest to the doors, misleadingly refined like elegance was just another kink she can blackmail someone with. She still wears that ridiculously old-fashioned Victorian-era attire including the bonnet. Missy has also been fiddling with her gloves while she observes Clara. For most, it can be considered as just another absentminded, nervous tick. Oh, but for Missy—it simply looks like she’s preparing to do something grand—much like the way the Doctor would fix his bow tie.  
  
That worries Clara often. It always puts her under great unease every time it becomes unavoidable for her to see why Missy and the Doctor are alike for the most subtle reasons such as certain banal habits.  
  
“Friendship is so complicated when you don’t see things the same way, I find...” Missy’s tone is just as condescending as ever, exaggerating a Scottish accent that’s basically asking for a slap in the face right now.  
  
Clara can’t ignore her for long, she knows, but she still wants to assert her own control in the situation, given that Missy has yet again trespassed her private space. Hijacking a TARDIS isn't so hard when it's disguised as a diner after all and is always open for business every time it lands somewhere. But Clara had been called a control freak before, so she will stand her ground and focus on not being worn down by the tempestuous time lady.  
  
She gets out from the kitchen, wiping her palms on the cerulean blue uniform she had on. Now that she's back outside with the diner's only customer for the day, things are bound to get even more inconvenient. Rummaging through a particularly high shelf this time, Clara has to boost herself up by using a small stool whose short legs are rather wobbly.  
  
“Ah, yes,” Missy whistles once and adds, “Don’t worry about a broken neck by falling, Clara. You can’t die twice now, can you? Oh, if only stupidity kills, then I may never have to go out on weekends and blast off a few planets. My massacres perform the basic function of natural selection, you know.”  
  
“Would you kindly, please, shut up?” Clara tries to keep her tone as neutral as possible even though everything is simply not going her way. She hasn’t gotten quite the knack for this whole thing, but she’s learning as she goes. She can’t exactly run out of time just yet. Because of the TARDIS, the clock can turn back for as long as she likes. The destination ahead of her is already fixed so for now she wants to enjoy the middle parts. Is that arrogant and selfish of her? Perhaps.   
  
“You haven’t answered my primary question, my Clara…” Missy’s irritating voice breaks into her contemplations.  
  
She frowns deeply as she holds onto the ledge of the shelf with one hand while moving the other across the contents. “Don’t call me that. Ever. I was not and never will be ‘yours’ or anything close to that effect.” Clara pauses. “And I wasn’t really listening to you.”  
  
“I do so hate to repeat myself, Clars, don’t make me repeat myself,” Missy feigns a mournful voice while saying that. Clara can clearly picture a matching pout to accompany it.   
  
“You were saying something about friends and enemies,” she decides to engage a little. Giving Missy that for a bit might silence her. “I assume you’re speaking about you and the Doctor again.”  
  
“Under any other circumstances, you would assume correctly,” Missy remains where she is for now, but Clara really shouldn’t turn her back away from the other woman. And so she abruptly faces Missy while still balancing herself on the stool. Clara narrows her eyes as she listens more attentively now.  
  
“I was making an observation about you, actually,” Missy elaborates then clicks her tongue once before she goes on, “And that insufferable narcissist who goes by the moniker ‘Me’. How original! She can’t be that fun to have around. Please tell me you don’t like her more than you like me, Clars.”  
  
“See, this is exactly why I don’t want a conversation with you, Missy. You’re hardly nice and every time we cross paths, things in here go missing! So do get out of my TARDIS already.” She slams a something hard on the shelf and then breathes out. The next words came out faster than she would like, making it seem as if she’s panicking, “I’m not going to put up with your attitude any longer, do you hear me? Every so-called social visit from you might as well be a threat!” Clara steps down the stool carefully and gives the other woman a glare which seems ineffectual at the moment.   
  
"I borrowed one pot and you're already getting all worked up," Missy rolls her eyes as she scoffs, "It's not like this is a busy diner, sweet tart. No one's going to care about one pot."  
  
"That wasn't a pot! That was an essential part of the TARDIS' navigational system! Your crippled my machine, that's what you did! And now every time I land somewhen or where, I can't ever seem to park it right!" Clara places her hands on her hips, looking very crossed. "Do you know how ridiculous it is to land a diner on the tip of an iceberg or atop a whale's blowhole?"  
  
"Ha! Blowholes!" Missy cackles.  
  
"You are the worst!" Clara throws her notepad at the other woman, uncaring if she's the one being juvenile.  
  
Missy continues to laugh at her misery and so Clara's murky thoughts now inwardly turn to her lost friend—to Ashildr and that particular squabble they had in 1925 back on New York, Earth. It was only the beginning of many arguments that would follow them as they travel the cosmos together. Missy can’t possibly know all of the details. Had she been spying on them?   
  
“You really should have more important things to do with your valuable time than tweaking my TARDIS,” Clara asserts as she approaches with a rather gruff gait and grabs the pointy end of Missy’s umbrella, lifting it.  
  
”What in the Devil’s Run are you doing?” the other woman raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Making sure you don’t shoot me with this,” she replies with a curt tone. “Now give it.”  
  
“Always the strict teacher,” The bratty woman sticks her tongue out.  
  
“If you’re going to muck about and bother me for a while until you get bored, then I’d rather have you unarmed.”  
  
“Has that ever stopped me, Clara?” Missy’s smile is positively devious, red lips curling challengingly, “Has it ever stopped the Doctor?”  
  
“We’re not talking about Ashildr,” Clara keeps pulling at the umbrella, and Missy gives a playful tug at first before she loosens her grip enough that Clara's able to pry it away. She keeps it at her side and raises a finger warningly, saying, “And we’re certainly not talking about the Doctor either.”  
  
“Still bummed out about the whole forgetting-you thing? Gosh, just get over it…” Missy climbs up the table now then mockingly cocks her head to the side while she uses another shrill tone, “Or perhaps you don’t want to be reminded of the truth?”  
  
“What truth?” Asking that is Clara’s greatest mistake for today.  
  
It makes Missy bat her eyelashes in that sickeningly coquettish way she does as she rolls a shoulder up, all the while angling her body to the side for a dramatic pose.  
  
“The truth, Clara my Clara,” she uncrosses her legs and lifts one so it can hang in the air while she slowly lowers the upper part of her body to the surface of the table. Missy keeps staring at Clara as she does this impossible pose, adding, “…is that even though you may have stolen a TARDIS and picked up a stray to serve as your assistant, and then started to travel far and wide in search of measly peasant problems here and there for you to fix—the truth is that ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʜɪᴍ, dear.”  
  
Missy lies on her back against the table with one of her legs still raised. She chuckles grimly and continues to prattle on, “It takes more than passable competence, a dash of compassion, and the right tools of time travel to become ᴛʜᴇ Dᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ, Clars. Much like it would take more than a stylish pair of sexy boots, hairspray and a predilection for passionate bloodshed to make one ᴛʜᴇ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀ.”  
  
Clara’s glare sharpens as she holds her breath. A few seconds pass and then she asks, “Are you finally done talking?”  
  
“Not quite,” Missy breaks the eye contact only so she can look at the ceiling above. She laces her fingers together as she rests her hands on her abdomen. “Ah, Clara, Clara. You really screwed the pooch on this one now.”  
  
“What the bloody hell are you rambling about this time?” Clara has already turned away and grips onto the umbrella very tightly as she tries to come up with her next course of action.  
  
“Me,” Missy answers, “I meant, your little pet, the assistant—your very own disposable companion.”  
  
“Ashildr and I mutually agreed to part ways a while back,” Clara says that definitively, hinting that there’s more to the story. Isn’t there always with time travelers and immortals?  
  
“She’s a handful,” Missy remarks. From the corner of her eye, Clara can see that the other woman has lowered her leg and lifts the other. It seems as if she’s either checking the laces of her boot or admiring the entire thing. She stretches herself all across the table without a care in the world, dirtying the red leather of the seat by pushing the other boot there for leverage. And she continues to spout out nonsense, “Me has the makings and motives of an anarchist. I would have picked her myself which accounts for your taste then. You really should have chosen your disposables well, Clars. Isn’t that lesson numero uno on How-To-Be-Doctor?”  
  
She makes a slight purring sound next, unconcerned that Clara isn’t even looking directly at her anymore. “This ‘Ashildr’ is a huge bomb that’s going to blow up somewhere in space—or she could lay waste to a very important landmark in your human history. If you ask my personal opinion, I’d say that Me’s inevitable meltdown might be a blessing-in-disguise.”  
  
“How so?” Clara still can’t face Missy. This chitchat is going to dark places she doesn't even want to consider. Her facial expression is blank but her grip on the umbrella betrays her as she pullss it even close to her chest like it were a shield all of a sudden.  
  
“I mean!” Missy chuckles much louder now. She seems to have jumped out of the table, going by the squeaking noise and the heavy thud on the tiled floor.  
  
Clara stands still one moment, back turned completely, and then she cringes next as soon as she feels Missy’s breath and hears that grating tone close to her ear, whispering, “…ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴀʀᴇ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴏᴛʜ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀʀ ᴏɴ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.”  
  
“War?” Clara raises her own tone as she takes a few steps back from the other woman, clutching onto the umbrella even tighter that her nails are starting to hurt, but it’s the only tangible thing in her grasp that she can hold onto. Her entire defensive pose expresses utter indignation about Missy’s ludicrous suggestion. A part of her just won’t admit it, but the possibility has perhaps crossed her mind before.  
  
Still, she grits her teeth and argues back, “I’ᴍ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀʀ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴍʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ!”  
  
A pause that could have easily stretched into eternity hangs between the two women. Neither moved or said anything for a while. Of course, it’s Missy who eventually acquiesces and sighs through her parted lips, the thick redness of them distracting and really inappropriate. She then fixes a stray strand of curl on her forehead which got loose from her otherwise perfect hairdo.   
  
“The funny thing is,” With a calm and almost sorrowful expression casting shadows on her face, which couldn’t be any less dangerous since it’s still Missy after all, she tells Clara next, “...ʜᴇ sᴀɪᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ sᴀᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴄᴇ.”

 

 

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→•••••••••••⊙Ｔｏ Ｂｅ Ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅｄ


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